


Night Out

by Little_Firestar84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Follow-up, Masturbation, Mature-ish, Mentions of Sex, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Firestar84/pseuds/Little_Firestar84
Summary: Ever since your tall, dark-haird, blue eyed, trench-coat loving ex showed up, you've been reminded exactly of the kind of man you like- and how much Castiel embodies your ideal partner, on the outside... but also inside. With desire running high through your veins, and the awarenes that you don't want to loose your friend, what will you do to get rid of the edgy want?





	Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a follow up to [Petal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112991), but can be read as a stand-alone.

It’s bad, it’s really, _really_ bad. Two weeks ago, you already knew that your crush on the celestial being known as Castiel was quickly escalating into something out of control. Fuck, even _Dean,_ of all people, knew, or at least suspected, who the object of your affection is. But, after crossing paths with Wisdom – _with your Pete_ – he got the confirmation he was waiting for. 

_ And,  _ you’ve been reminded that dark, tall, blue eyed, with a deep voice and a penchant suits and ties and trench coats are exactly the kind of men you liked in your bed.

Physically, they _really do_ look alike, and yet, they couldn’t be any different: Pete’s a egoistical, self-centered, back-stabbing bastard who put Queen Country first and everyone else (his father, his sister, _you_ ) behind. And although Cas may have dragged the Winchesters (and you) through some major bumps on the road, he’s always been genuinely sorry afterwards, and you know that he’d rather die and ended up in the Void than hurting you again or be the reason something bad happened to you.

Back to back, moving in synch, attuned to each other’s thoughts, Castiel has always been there for you ever since a case involving your personal nemesis – whispers, or, like Dean likes to call them, were-pires, the creatures responsible for your parents’ death almost three decades ago – dragged you into the Winchesters’ orbit.

From his silent company during long nights into the bunker’s library looking through the lore, to his sage advice when you tend to blindly put yourself into harm’s way, only because you need to find (and shatter, annihilate, destroy) whoever took your sister away from you, Castiel has been your confident, your personal (and literal) angel on your shoulder, with the kind smiles, and bright eyes that had seen everything right from the moment of creation, and yet were still curios for more. The Angel of the Lord has slowly worked his way into your life and heart, and you’d rather die than losing him- physically and metaphorically.

Which is kind of your problem: you want him, like, for real. So much so that you blush, feverishly so, every time your eyes meet across the room, no matter how crowded, your sex throbs with wet desire whenever his fingers skim over your heated skin. 

Just last week, he touched your forehead as he healed you,just a breath of air between your bodies, eyes in the eyes. As soon as he was done, you just lost it, and as soon he was done with you, you offered the first excuse that came to mind to retreat to the solitude of your room. You were so worked up you didn’t even made it to the bad, you just slid against the cold metallic door and, completely clothed, got your hand in your panties. You were oh, so wet, you didn’t need too many preambles. You just _pumped_ two fingers in and out of your wet sex, the heel of your hand pressing hard against your clit, you bit your lips, bringing yourself to a silent orgasm, suffocating your monas so that no one could be the wiser to your unspeakable desires – all the while thinking, imagining, dreaming that it was _him_ doing the dirty to and with you. 

Afterwards, you couldn’t bring yourself to even just look at him- for days. You jumped when he would arrive at your back, or when he would tap on your shoulder, sneaking on you while you were investigating the latest creature you’ve crossed paths with.

You haven’t even been able to sleep comfortably in the bunker lately – especially when Castiel is around, which, in his wing-less status, and given his transition from guardian to father figure to jack, happens, like, all the time.Because, well, your XXX rated wet dreams aren’t any better than your scorching hot open-eyed fantasies, and, seriously, how many chances there are that he wouldn’t eventually sniff that dirty secret of yours through celestial mind-reading (or whatever it is)?

You hate to admit it, but, if you want just one chance at making it better, there’s just one thing to do.

You need to get laid. 

ASAP. 

So, one Friday evening, mercifully free of any impeding world-ending doom and things that go bump in the night (and day) and who happen to just _love_ chopping people up, you go for your cutest top (cold-shouldered, bell-sleeved, ocean green silk), your nicest jeans and even _heels_ (block heeled boots, but, still, it’s always a heel, right?) and make up (red lips, smoky eyes). You even quietly retrieve a couple of condoms from your go-bag, just in case you do get lucky, and whistling you make your way to the garage.

Dean’s there, working underneath his precious Baby, and you squat at his side, elbows on your knees. “Ehy, I’m leaving for a couple of days. Something happens, you’ve got my number.”

He sighs loudly and he leaves his place, opting to lean on his feet against the Impala’s side. The older Winchester retrieve a oily, greasy rag from his back pocket, and use it to clean his hands, all the while looking intently at you. “[Y/N], if you want to go and work a case solo, just, _don’t._ I know you want to get to the bottom of what happened to your sister, but sneaking alone on were-pires isn’t the answer. If you want to look for trouble, let us watch your back at least.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. You want to snap at him, say something maybe a little nasty, but you know he is right. Dean (and Sam, and even Castiel) hates hearing about hunters working cases alone in general, but your case is even worse. Because he is right: working a case alone got your sister killed- and, in more than one occasion, almost got you butchered, too. 

“Okay, first, they aren’t called were-pires. They have, as you know, an actual name, and it’s _whispers._ Second, contrary to common belief, I’m not all work and no play.” He snorts, telling you with no words at all what he actually thinks of your statement – utter bullshit. “No, I’m serious. I was thinking a bar, maybe dancing? There’s bound to be something even here in the middle of nothing, right?”

Dean sighs, and he grabs your shoulders with his greasy hands, making you shudder with worry- it’s you nicest and priciestarticle of clothing, after all, and it’s _real silk –_ but you suddenly let out a breath of relief when you see that he only left stains on your skin – a wipe will do.

“Listen kiddo,” he says, calling you with that hateful nickname, forgetting that you’re even older than Sam (two weeks, but, still…). “If this is about what I said when the Brit prick showed up, forget it. I was an idiot and I wanted to tease you a little.”

You bit your lips (grateful you invested in some decent lipstick) and shake your head. You groan, lifting your hands in the air, a tad dramatically. “Oh, c’mon! Is it really that evident that…” You groan. _Again._

“That you are looking for a good time? Well, you say you’re not working a case, you’re all dolled up, and, you’ve bene kind of… edgy lately. Ever since the ex in a trench coat showed up.”

“Crap. Am I really that much transparent?”

Dean sighs. “Honey, you got it so bad that just last week, even _Jack_ asked me what was wrong with you and Cas, and the kid is, what, two years old?”

You go, in the blink of an eye, from red to pale and red all over again. Speechless, you swallow, hard, and you don’t dare to voice your question, to ask Dean if Castiel told him anything, if the object of your indiscreet desires knows about your fantasies, about what you do when you are all alone in your room at night. 

Dean panics a little seeing you panicking, and is quick to assure you that you got it wrong. “Relax, kiddo. Cass is not into the secret. Guy has a lot… well, some good qualities. But, well, over a decade among us poor bastards and he is still kinda blind.” You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and run an hand through your hair. 

Dean puffs, and claps his hands together. “Listen, [y/n], you want to have some fun? I’m the last guy who’s gonna tell you to behave. Just remember- better safe than sorry.Bearing this is mind…”

He moves to retrieve his wallet, and from one of the pockets he produces a condom, all mischievous grins and proud of himself. You rolls your eyes, shaking your head and sighing, and you show him the same silvery packet you have in your pocket. 

He looks at you, impressed. “A modern girl, kiddo. Gotta say, I’m impressed. Kudos for that.”

“Yes, and,” You say, deadly serious. “If I were you, I wouldn’t use that. Seriously, Dean, you know that you aren’t supposed to put…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I’m not a baby. I put it there yesterday!”

Yesterday- you grin in realization. While you were coming back to the bunker, you’ve stopped to eat at this cheesy diner, and Dean had been flirting non-stop with the waitress. So, either he got lucky and he reinvigorated his stash, or he hoped to get to know “Lily” better but he didn’t.

Looking at him, you don’t even need to ask – it’s the first, of course it’s the first. 

(After all, when has Dean ever been known to suffer from blue balls? Besides the time he turned into a geriatric pig and girls found him cute and sweet…)

You pat him on the shoulder (awkward, but what else is there to do?) and move to your car. You are already inside, listening to the engine pouring, when the eldest Winchester calls after you. “Ehy kiddo, you know that you can always ask the concerned party, right? Cas would be more than glad to get you to your happy ending!”

You grin, pretending that it was all a jock, that he is an idiot (which he is, a tiny little bit), and show him the middle finger as you reverse with your beloved car.

***

There’s this small bar along the way, only things for miles. You’ve heard of it from Dean of course – in the past, it used to be his choice to find the flavor of the week (or day). It’s not your usual cup of tea – you’ve always liked clubs a little more – but, all things considered, beggars can’t be choosers. 

You sit on one of the high strolls, leaning over the counter, and you send flirty looks to the cute guy at your 3:00 – dark blonde hair and black eyes, a little pale, a t-shirt and jeans, well-built. You bite your lips, and it doesn’t escape your notice that he is the complete opposite of the star of your fantasies. 

“So…. what are you having?” You ask, giggling a little (ugh- what you wouldn’t do to get laid. And get Cas out of your system).

He orders you his same drink, and you exchange pleasantries, and names (he is Ian, and, you told him, you are Margaret Shannon) and pretend to be a sale representative passing by- make-up, you tell him (which is ironic, as you don’t really know a lot of make-up, barely use it. Because, hello? Hunting and make-up? Not the best combination possible).

There’s a country song on the juke-box, and you accept his invitation to dance. Your back to his chest, you move your hips in tempo with the music, rolling into him. His hands are possessive on your sides, almost marking you, and you keep your arms outstretched over your head, eyes half-closed, swaying to the music. You bite your lips as you rock into his erection, knowing that yes, you’ll get laid tonight, and that tomorrow you’ll not have to worry about dreaming about a certain seraph of your knowledge- not too much, at least. 

You gasp as he kisses your neck, and your eyes are wide open when you feel… someone staring at the you from the other side of the room. Your arms fall at your sides, and you stay there, motionless, swallowing hard as your eyes met his across the crowded room, your [y/e/c] eyes reflecting on shimmering blue. Like energy, you’re called to him, and you see him, as clear as day, among the countless bodies on the dancefloor. Like you were alone, just the two of you. 

Ian, not taking the hint, keeps grinding on you, but you shake your head, and, clenching your teeth when he keeps NOT getting message, you almost (almost) slap him. He keeps his hands on your sides, leaving half-moon indentation on the soft skin, but, soon, Castiel makes his way to you, sure of himself, standing tall and proud as only an Angel of the Lord would.

“The ladyis too kind to say out loud is that she isn’t interested any longer.” He states in his deep, low voice, making you tremble head to toes with desire. Ian finally understands where his place is – not here with you, of course, you’re already spoken for – and, hands up in surrender, he walks backwards towards the bar. As to check on him, make sure he isn’t followed, his eyes never leave Castiel.

[Y/N], what are you doing here?” He asks, but his gaze, the way he spoke, it seems like he already knows the answer. 

You take a big breath and shake your head, grunting something behind your teeth. You just up and leave the club, storming off like a fury, because… well, it’s just not right. It wasn’t his place to… to do anything of sort. He isn’t yours; he should have allowed to have just _that,_ a night where you could belong to someone, where you could pretend you were normal. You curse Dean (metaphorically speaking, of course; _but_ you don’t take out of the equation cursing the smug bastard for real at a later date, when he’ll expect it.) 

In the alley outside the club, you stop, and, panting, you turn to face Castiel, still hot on your heels. You open your mouth as to speak, but you come up empty. What are you supposed to tell him anyway? He may not be interested – and even if he were, you don’t want to ruin your friendship with him and the Winchesters for a one night standwith your angelic crush – but at least he cares about you, that much is clear. 

“You shouldn’t sell yourself so short.” He states, taking the few steps that separate the two of you. He lift on of his hands, running his knuckles along your jawline, making you swallow, hard. His lips are slightly parted, and he fixes you as transfigured, like he couldn’t believe his eyes, his luck.

He tilts his head to the side as his hand moves to the exposed column ofyour neck, as white as marble, and he runs his thumb rubbing, rough, against your throbbing pulse point making you moan out loud; your heart is going crazy, beating so fast and so loud you feel it’s going to explode. You are almost positive you are hearing some kind of ringing sound, too – like a bell, or something equally weird, and you ask yourself if you are crazy or what.

(You must be, and you are probably imagining things. Because there’ just no way that Castiel, Angel of the Lord in a trench coat, would try to, well, seduce you.)

Sighing, almost desperately, Castiel lowers his head, his lips inches from your ear, his nose bumping into yours. You are so close you can feel his hot breath on your neck, his stubble ticking your skin. You are out of breath, so hot you’d just want to get rid of your cloths, there and there, and yet, you can’t stop shivering. 

“Didn’t you see, my [Y/N],how I longed for you – how I reached out for you with my grace?”

As he says so, his hand reaches down, cupping your left breast through the think silk of your camisole, the other gripping, with all of his might, your hip, fisting the material in his hand. Castiel’s lips move south, and he sucks a hickey on your neck, marking you as his where everyone will see tomorrow- not that you particularly care, at this point. You are so out of breath that all that leaves your lips are moans, prayers (for him, of course) and unintelligible sounds, and, in a corner of your mind, you think that yes, Castiel’s got game, and that whoever taught him (Sam’s too nice, Dean, yep, that’s a big maybe yes, and then there’s always your angel’s favorite method of education- the media) really did a nice job and deserves a thank you note and some flowers (or, in Dean’s case, pie and beer).

He stops palming your breast – but only after having pinched and rubbed the nipple through cloth _and_ bra – when he moves that naughty hand south. He rubs your sex through your jeans, making you so wet you’re scared you may actually be wetting _your pants_ (impossible, but, still, he is an angel, after all). He presses two fingers against your opening, his thumb hard against your clit.

You knees are about to give up on you when you grab him for the lapels of his trench coat, fisting the fabric in your small hands. You bring yourself closer to him, impossibly so, and you feel his desire tenting his trousers, his hard sex heavy against your belly, ready to spill his divine essence at any given moment.

Your right hand moves north, caressing each and every inch of skin and solid _male_ you meet.You fist his short hair through your fingers, lazily scratching his scalp with your red-polished fingernails. Castiel breath in and out and in and out again and again and again, in the spur of a moment, and, grinning (almost positive that must be one of your wet dreams), you touch your mouth to his neck, stilling your lips there, leaving a dark red imprint in the perfect shape of your mouth. 

Castiel _groans,_ desperate and frustrated, and you, never stopping smiling, you rearrange his head so that you can finally, _finally,_ realize your fantasy of just kissing the light out of him. You tentatively touches your lips against his, and Castiel smiles at the first touch of your mouth. You’re on tip-toes, but, still, despite being shorter than both Dean and Sam, he is still way taller than you. He stops teasing you, and grabs you for your hips, lifting your body in the air like it was nothing -so that your faces are at the same level. 

“Whoa, buddy, slow down!” You pant as you move your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away, but, lately, I found that my good reason escapes me where you are concerned. Your fantasies and your dreams, lately… they’ve driven me crazy with want, but I feared all you were after was temporary satisfactions. Even since we’ve meet, I was dragged to you, to your beautiful soul, and I feared that acting on our desires would have… alienated us. But now I see I was wrong. Because we share so much more than mere lust.” He tells you, smiling, with eyes that shone as bright as the stars he was there to see coming to life.

“Oh,” you whisper, blushing like crazy and hiding your face in his shoulder. He’s warm, and he smells like spring in mountain and fresh water and just _nature,_ and you wonder if it’s just him, if it was Jimmy’s cologne, or if all angels are just like that.

(If they all smell so, well, heavenly, you can understand why so many humans have fallen for them in the centuries- that, and the fact that you’ve still to meet an angel with a vessel that wasn’t very, very, very handsome…)

“Still,” he sighs against your neck. “as much as I desire you, my dear, I wish to take my time with you - and worship my father’s masterwork.”

He lets go of you, slowly and delicately, like only angel would be able to, and you smile at him- you can’t stop smiling at this amazing creature of the Lord, barely believing your luck – what you’ve always wanted, there with you, at arm’s length. Finally, at least. 

“Smooth, Cas, smooth – you, my dear, got game…” You giggle a little – so unlike you, but so is this very situation, after all- and you smack a kiss on his cheek, soundly. “So, what do you say we look for some food truck? We grab a bite, talk, and maybe, if you’ll behave…” You tap against his tie, blue, slightly loose around his neck. Simply adorable. So Castiel. 

“I think, my dear, that you’ll have me at my best behavior.” You both laugh and smile and giggle some more, as he takes your hand in his and you walk side by side, leaning onto each other. 

The evening definitely didn’t go as planned. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

(And you gotta remember to bring Dean some pie as thank you gift.)


End file.
